Forgotten Memories
by The Unofficial Companion
Summary: The worst moment is when you have forgotten the moments you swore you yourself you would never forget. (JohnLock)


Forgotten Memories

By: TheOneYouComeBackFor

Fandom: Sherlock

Summary: The worst moment is when you have forgotten the moments that you swore to yourself that you would never forget.

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock. I know nobody who suffered from dementia therefore this is just my interpretation from researching for a couple of hours.

He was 78, Sherlock was 73 and he should have seen this coming. Over the past few months he had been remembering less and less about his life. The fragments that he had been holding to had been blown off into the wind and felt like ice in his heart. He could remember less about those fragments and he had Sherlock scared. Sherlock was in his seventies but that didn't stop him. He was still as annoying and strange and lovable as he was 40 years ago.

John couldn't remember that. He could only hazily remember his deep depression that he had slipped into after his soulmate had jumped off a building. He didn't remember most of the cases and he certainly wouldn't be able to tell you what the colour pink used to mean to him.

Sherlock, being a genius, noticed the first signs of dementia right away. John had suddenly forgotten his phone number, one that he has had for 37 years. This happened repeatedly. John then had trouble remembering his blog address to write up his daily goings-on. Next John lost his laptop completely. He had left it downstairs but he spent hours searching for it. Finally Sherlock knew that his best friends memory was deteriorating when he had forgotten who his sister was when she had called.

John had refused to believe that there was anything wrong with his memory. He stated continuously that he was fine and that Mrs. Hudson was forgetful and nobody even talked about her. Sherlock snapped then because Mrs. Hudson had been dead for 20 years. She had a heart attack after a robbery.

Sherlock grabbed John and smiled wryly, holding his love in his arms and trying not to cry. John didn't know what Sherlock was doing, nor what was wrong with him but he smiled back to his soulmate, knowing that this was a moment when you don't speak, you don't react, you don't feel, you just let the other people with their emotions.

"John, you know I love you, don't you?" He paused, holding back tears. "You'll never forget me, will you? Oh, who am I kidding, you'll forget me soon enough and I'll be alone."

"What on earth are you talking about, Sherlock? I'll never forget you. You're my husband, how could I forget you?"

Those words soothed Sherlock, even though he knew that John would soon forget that he had ever uttered them. He made sure that he never forgot those words because they meant the world to him. He knew that John was doomed to forget him one day. He just knew that it wasn't going to be today. That made him smile back at his husband, regardless if he knew that the words would contradict themselves.

Those words that Sherlock had believed for so many days finally failed him on a snowy winters day. He was putting John's coat when suddenly John looked into his eyes with a look of horror and started to back away. John kept walking backwards until his hip met the desk and he stopped, as if the desk had jolted him back into the harsh reality.

"Greg, is that you? I thought you would be at Scotland Yard." He looked confused and disorientated at Sherlock.

"No, love, it's Sherlock."

"This isn't a joke, Greg." John smiled as if this was an April Fool's joke.

"I'm Sherlock, your husband."

"No, you're not."

"Here, love, let's play a game. Sit down on the armchair. I'll be back."

Sherlock disappeared downstairs to grab John's laptop and raced back upstairs. He quickly keyed in the blog address for: "The Blog of John Watson". He smiled to himself as he saw the cases that his husband had joined him on. All the laughs, the chases, the smiles. He saw the entries, or rather the lack of, in the time when he had pretended that he was dead.

"What colour was her case in A Study in Pink?" He had remembered that case fairly well, as it had been the one where he had met John.

"No. I have no idea."

Sherlock had to laugh at the irony of the question that he asked. What colour was her case with the answer in the question. Only Sherlock smiled though, John had a confused expression on his wrinkled, tanned face.

"Okay. Let's try something new. Who is Moriarty?" Sherlock asked, smiling encouragingly

"I know him!" John paused as Sherlock held his breath. "He's the butcher down the road. Nice chap. He gives me free meat on Thursdays."

Sherlock sighed, realizing that his greatest hope had been crushed in the space of five minutes. He smiled wryly at his husband, wishing that he would remember all the amazing things that the Invincible John had done. Not the John that his husband had become - one in the last stages of dementia.

Sherlock let his mind wander to a time when a smile always had John behind it and every argument was about the stupidest of things. It could have been trivial (Sherlock had forgotten to buy milk, again) or moral issues (Sherlock should care about the people he saves). Either way he wouldn't trade his best friend for the world.

** Six Months Later**

"Greg? Greg?"

Sherlock had been accustomed to being called Greg. Whenever John called out to him, he usually called out to Detective Inspector, not Sherlock. He didn't mind though. At least John still talked to him, regardless of not knowing who he is. Don't ordinary people spend their lives pretending to be someone they're not? Sherlock could spend six months doing it, surely.

He walked into the room, seeing John's face wrinkled with confusion and his eyebrows furrowed, staring at the mirror in disbelief. His hand reached out and stroked the mirror, smiling at himself in the mirror.

"This man just appeared in my room today, Greg. Kindly show him the way out, he seems to be a bit shy." John smiled at the reflection, and the reflection smiled back.

"Okay, John, back to bed."

"Remember to show the nice man the way out."

"I will, don't you worry."

John closed his eyes and he slowly wandered into the realm of reverie with a smile on his face. He looked so much younger, so innocent. Sherlock couldn't believe that a few minutes ago John had no idea who his own reflection was yet when we was asleep look so young and so carefree.

"Sweet dreams, John."

**The Next Day**

Sherlock woke up and smiled, stretching out his left arm and rubbing his eye with his right. He sat up straight and winced as his back cracked. He looked over at his husband and reached his hand out to hold his arm when he didn't feel a pulse. Panicking, he quickly leant over John's mouth and felt no breathing. Tears streamed down his face as he hugged John and whispered to his love. He whispered fragments, phrases, words trapped in John's mind but it was no use.

John was dead.

Sherlock stayed in his dead husbands arms for what felt like an eternity until it hit him like a ton of bricks. He would have to live his life without his love, his soulmate, his husband. His John.

"John, come back. Please. I need you. Come back."

Sherlock, grief stricken, untangled himself from the embrace and walked calmly over to the medicine draw in his desk where he saw a pill bottle. He had bought it months ago for when John died. He didn't want to live without his soulmate, regardless of how long or short that time was. He just couldn't survive without him. John may have forgotten about him but no way had Sherlock figured out made him forget John. It would have been so easier to deal with if Sherlock have felt no love for him.

"John, I'm doing this for you. I love you."

He smiled, a normal happy smile. He would be with John. Nothing else mattered. He hadn't been a Christian, nor any other religion but in that moment he was too grief stricken. He hadn't thought about how much he had given up for John this past 40 years but neither had John. It just seemed so natural, so real, so perfect. He may be insane for thinking that but he'd rather be insane and dead than normal and alone.

He lied back down on the bed. He swallowed the pills.

Author's Note: Hullo. My name is Azure and this is my story. I don't know anyone with this mental disease, I just researched it. I didn't mean to offend. Regardless, review and tell me what you think! PM me if you wanna talk or vent or anything and have a wonderful day.

- Azure.


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